


Assistant White House Counsel

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-02-03
Updated: 2001-02-03
Packaged: 2019-05-15 19:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14796275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Different people of the West Wing reflect on their lives so far.





	Assistant White House Counsel

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

 

RATING: G  
NOTES: New series. See Part One.  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the West Wing or any of its related   
characters. Don't sue.   
SUMMARY: Different people of the West Wing reflect on their lives so   
far.

They really need to start selling Fresca here. I need that stuff.   
It's not quite as hot in my office now that I'm getting used to it,   
with the fan being a good nice help and all in that department. I   
think I'll survive. If people can survive the Sahara, I can survive   
my office.  
Lord, how did I get here? I'm a Republican lawyer working in a   
Democrat's white house. My parents freaked, my friends freaked, hell,   
even I freaked. Never in my life did I realize that I could ever work   
for a Democrat. I think what makes me even more surprised is that   
they've been listening to me; I actually do make a difference around   
here. When I first came here, I thought they only wanted me so that   
they could say "We have a Republican working here! We're bi-partisan!"  
I'm still not entirely sure.   
I do not know what this iambic pentameter talk is about. I speak   
the way that I speak. It's not like I'm attempting to speak "in   
iambic pentameter" but whatever. I was raised believing that if you   
speak with respect, you are paying respect to those who are hearing   
you and earning respect from those who are listening. I believe that.   
Around here, I need all the respect that I can get.  
They're coming around though. I am getting along quite well with   
Sam and CJ; Josh I rarely see but we have pleasant encounters when I   
do see him; Leo is very kind and the President is a tolerable man;   
Mr. Ziegler I also rarely see, nor do I hear from him, but people   
tell me that his treatment of me is no different than for other   
people, so that's got to be a good thing.  
Someone once told me that life is like a river; it's always   
twisting around so you never know what's going to happen next until   
it's too late, and then every once in a while, you get a waterfall. I   
didn't believe that until I saw 456-1414 on that stupid caller ID   
screen. Since then, my "river" can't seem to stay straight. I just   
keep finding twist after turn after twist after turn.  
It's exciting almost.  
I've got things to do. It's a strange feeling, being needed,   
especially when people you generally disregard as opponents are the   
ones who need you. I think I like my life. It surprises me more than   
any one, but I like it here. This white house is so much more   
tolerable than I thought it could be. It's become my life.   
Scary, I know.  
My apartment has finally been completely unpacked... except   
for the kitchen and my bedroom. Oh, well. I'll get to it soon. I'll   
probably find my portable heater just in time for spring. I hope my   
office is much more tolerable when the White House heaters aren't in   
hyperactive use. It had better be. Otherwise, Tribbey or no Tribbey,   
I'm gonna file a complaint or something.  
No, I won't. Oh, well. It's not really in me. I don't mind it   
that much.  
I want to get a cat. I don't have time for a cat, but I still   
want one. I just need something furry to cuddle every time I get   
frustrated, because that seems to be happening more and more lately,   
getting frustrated. Maybe I should ask CJ about it; after all, she's   
the one who thinks I kill my pets, right? She should have some good   
advice for me.  
I'm joking. I'm not bitter.  
What does my life consist of? I was born and raised in North   
Carolina and I'm proud of my origins. Sometimes I wonder how I got   
into politics; I think it came through my love for this country. I   
love this country, always have, and I've always wanted to make a   
difference in it. That's the driving force in my life: make a   
difference or don't bother trying.  
I'm gonna spend my life trying, even if it kills me. That's why   
I'm here.   
When I was ten, I swore that I would work until I had enough   
money to see the world, and then I would just go. Today I'm not so   
idealistic. I still want to see the world; Italy, France, Japan. I   
want to go to all these places and more. Does that seem strange? The   
only people that I've ever told that dream to were my parents. My   
father said "maybe someday, sunflower." My mother said "How unlike   
you, dear."   
I miss being a kid. I could run and play and learn and not have   
to worry about politics or parties or having to always be right. I   
had a dog once. He's dead now, but I still cherish the memories of   
running through the fields with him. I miss that sense of freedom. I   
miss not having to be cooped up in a hot office all day. I miss those   
days when I used to wonder what the future would be like. Now I sit   
and wonder about the past. There's a lot of future left to wonder   
about, but there's not as much mystery left to it.  
The only thing that I know for sure is the past. That's all any   
of us could know. That's all anyone can ask me to know.  
They're an interesting group of people. I might even go so far as   
to say that my dad might like them. Toby Ziegler is an excellent   
writer; Josh is a true survivor; CJ is a graceful warrior armed with   
words; Leo is a leader and a father all in one; the President   
honestly believes in the good of this country; Sam... Well, Sam is   
Sam.   
Their view may be more than a little different than mine,   
extremely opposite in some cases, but we get along quite well anyway.   
I mean, we're not exactly a happy little family... well, they   
comprise a happy little family without me, but in the grand scheme of   
things, I'm something like a distant cousin or something like that.   
That works.  
Where am I? Compared to where I was last year? Ten years ago?   
Fifteen? How does time move so fast? I never asked for a life like   
this. I did well in school, got into Harvard and then Harvard law,   
and then that led to politics and then here. How does that work? It   
feels like only yesterday I was graduating high school, my bright   
future ahead of me, working for... I don't know that I knew where   
I'd be working. I wasn't planning then to be a lawyer. I wasn't sure   
what the future held, and to be honest, I'm still not.  
I believe that this world is a complicated one. It is those   
complications that keep us going however. We need challenges; we need   
interests; we need to make sure that things don't get boring. Hell,   
that's another reason I took this job: It's one heck of a challenge.  
Let's think about it for a moment, shall we? I am a young,   
blonde, apparently "leggy" Republican woman who works as an assistant   
White House counsel for a Democrat's White House. Why? Is it because   
I am open to bipartisanism? I'm looking for benefits and good pay?   
Yeah, right. I'm here for the challenge, and I'm here to serve my   
country the best that I know how.  
That's the only thing to do.  
My mother would say that it's "unlike" me.  
What shall I do today? I'm quite bored right this moment. The   
workload seems to have tapered off. Strange how that happens around   
here. I'm not sure if people just time it so that we all have a   
little off time and then it's right back to work we go, more stray   
pieces of paper all over the place. I think that the West Wing is a   
machine that's been programmed that way.   
I want to talk to my father. I haven't talked to him in such a   
long time. We used to talk late into the night about any old thing.   
As I grew older though, we just didn't have the time, and then when   
my mom got sick and I got this job, time became the least of our   
obstacles. I'm just tired of feeling alone. I work in a building with   
more than 1,200 other people employed within it, and yet I always   
feel so alone. Maybe it's because I'm surrounded by people who seem   
to believe that I'm an enemy of some sort.   
I really am alone, aren't I?  
I suppose I should find some work to do. It's got to be more   
constructive than sitting around here and feeling sorry for myself.   
If there's anything I hate, It's feeling sorry for myself.   
That's the main reason why I always have to try and make a   
difference.

***************************

  


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